When you’re born,
From your
Mother’s cocoon,
Torn.
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An outlet,
Liberation,What keeps me sane,A great sensation,That keeps me singing,Thru good and bad reigns,That makes me feel,All’s not in vain.That is Poetry to me,To write is not only to be,But to be, while being free.
In this World,
And so much hate,Beware, time fliesAnd Love can’t wait.
Poets,
And forgetThe World is madeOf pain, regrets,Of meanness, falsehoods,And of pride,Of ‘taking others for a ride’.
Feeling, Poetry
As the French say‘C’est pas facile’It is not easyIt takes an effortOf mind and spiritTo follow,Not having,A perspectiveThat’s really, narrowOpen mind, open cloudsAllowed to travel,Open routesDiscover, marvelsThat you feelMore than you seeAnd that’s just partOf the mysterious magicOf Poetry!
No one is really happy,
The One Eyed Cyclops,That nothing,ClearlyEver, sees.
Poetry Love,
You can’t give it up,It’s the blood of your Life,And the beat of your Heart.